


The Modern Woman

by TheLifeILive



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Dead Air, Episode Tag, F/M, Let's Misbehave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 14:56:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13661349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLifeILive/pseuds/TheLifeILive
Summary: “So, Jack, you still haven’t answered my question.”“I believe I refrain from answering a great many of your questions Miss Fisher. To which one do you refer?”Episode Tag to 2x11 Dead Air





	The Modern Woman

As the last chords of the song died out, he licked his lips and gave her a bashful smile before staring down at his hands. Now unsure what to do with them, they fidgeted in his lap. 

Although he didn’t see it, her smile answered his – broad, bright, and full of admiration. 

“I didn’t know you played,” she said softly. 

He shrugged. “The topic doesn’t often arise over a dead body, does it?” 

She laughed. “No, I guess it doesn’t, but my beautiful piano has been sitting here, languishing from lack of attention and this is the first time I have ever seen you play it.”  
“I didn’t want to impose….” 

“Jack,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. “Impose. You shouldn’t need an engraved invitation.” 

He quirked his trademark smile, and she felt her grin soften and widen. She couldn’t help it. Whatever was happening between her and her beautiful, enigmatic Detective Inspector, it was a hell of a lot of fun, and even more sexy. The flirted, exchanged playful banter, and never had she enjoyed the pleasure of a man’s friendship more than Jack’s. It was everything. It was something she didn’t want to name, and yet she wanted to plunk herself down in Mac’s living room and chatter like a schoolgirl about the boy she couldn’t stop thinking about. 

“So, Jack, you still haven’t answered my question.” 

“I believe I refrain from answering a great many of your questions Miss Fisher. To which one do you refer?” 

“Well, judging by the sweet kiss shared by our young colleagues this evening, the advice you dispensed to Hugh seems to have worked. Now can you tell me what you said?” 

She looked up at him through dark eyelashes, with a look calculated to raze his objections. Naturally it worked, but his pride demanded he make her work a little bit harder. 

Jack was usually loath to share too much information where his young constable was concerned. He had watched Hugh Collins grow from an insecure boy to a mature young man ready to accept the challenge of marrying a woman who was happily working for the most ragingly modern woman in the Southern Hemisphere. 

“You give me far too much credit Miss Fisher. Hugh and Miss Williams are facing this challenge head on, and I have no doubt they have the wisdom to work through their differences.” 

He was being evasive, but, as ever, it was more about goading her than anything else. He would tell her anything she wanted to know. She knew that. 

“C’mon Jack. I found Dot crying in the kitchen last night wondering how she and Hugh could ever reconcile their conflicting ideas on what marriage would mean for her as a woman. I know you must have had some hand in helping bring about the satisfying conclusion we witnessed tonight.” 

In an uncharacteristically gentle voice, she added: “I personally don’t think Hugh could ask for a better confidante and counsellor.” 

He felt gratitude well up inside him. He knew Phryne Fisher desired him, cared for him, esteemed him as an officer of the law, but the measure of respect he heard in her voice, and saw in her eyes, for him as a human being, never failed to make him feel like he could die a happy man tomorrow. 

“I merely told him that he was being confronted with the paradox of pursuing a modern woman.” 

Phryne’s face crinkled in confusion. Parroting Hugh, she asked: “Is Dot a modern woman?”

“No,” he said, “but she’s been living with one.” 

Phryne nodded her head. “It’s nice to know I’ve been a good influence.” 

He had a fleeting image of Jane and Marie locked in combat and Phryne with her dress pulled up exposing a dagger hidden in her garter belt. There were many young women unleashed on society, under her influence, who would no doubt leave their own mark on some poor, unsuspecting man. 

He nudged her arm, once again noting how close they were seated on the piano bench. Her shoulder brushed behind his, and her head hovered enticingly near his shoulder. 

He gave a low chuckle. “It would appear that you have, although I don’t know how much Hugh would agree with you.” 

“He looked pretty happy tonight.” 

Jack turned and met her eyes. ‘He just needs some time to learn that a modern woman isn’t something to be afraid of.” 

“No?” She looks at him suggestively.

“No,” he says matter-of-factly. “A modern woman is still a woman. She’s a human being that simply wants to be met on equal terms. She doesn’t want to be patronized or condescended to, as she so often has been. She isn’t asking much except that you treat her as a human being who can make decisions and choose her own path. There is nothing that should be scary about that, is there is Miss Fisher?” 

“Some men find it downright disturbing. I think some even use the word abnormal.” 

“There’s nothing abnormal about demanding the dignity of being treated as a human being with a soul and a mind. Especially someone with as brilliant a mind as yours. This isn’t about men and women and roles…I mean, it is…that is most certainly problematic, but to my mind this is about all people treating other people with the compassion, dignity, and respect that they deserve. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Fisher?” 

She nodded and smiled at him, unsure exactly how to respond to this verbose version of Jack Robinson. 

“You’re an idealist too, aren’t you Inspector?” 

He leaned in conspiratorially. “Don’t tell anyone.”

‘It’s too late Jack. You’re a good a person. You’re not fooling anyone.” 

“I try, Miss Fisher.” 

Phryne let her gaze dwell on him and drew a breath. Who is this man? How did she end up with this glorious, beautiful, unexpectedly modern man, in front of her, looking at her with both respect and love? There is no judgment in his gaze, no fear or uncertainty, only unadulterated admiration. 

Their eyes met over the piano keys. Hands stayed in laps while gazes roamed: searching, questioning. They had been hurtling towards something ever since their reconciliation. She didn’t know about him, but the last few days filled her with joy and an expectation of just how good it could be between them. She knew her heart was in her eyes when she stood and watched him drone on endearingly about missing sheep and the price of apples. She’d enjoyed every minute of their break-in at the radio station, not the least of which being the unexpected feeling of his hand on her bottom. 

They had fun together. He treated her like an equal. He trusted that she knew what she was doing. How many women in 1929 knew what this was like? Heaven and Hell couldn’t make her turn her back on this. 

He clears his throat, breaking the silence.

“So, I repeat, Miss Fisher, what is really so terrifying about the modern woman?

“Nothing…if you can handle her, that is.” 

“What is there to handle, Miss Fisher?” His voice was husky, and his eyes told her that he was willing to follow her down this uncharted avenue. 

“How would you handle a modern woman, Detective?” Her voice also pitched low as she leaned in to brush her lips against his ear. 

He inhaled sharply, but didn’t withdraw. “Depends on the woman, Miss Fisher.” His hand rose to settle on her lower back, unconsciously drawing her close. 

Her eyes were shining, much as they were when she confronted him at the radio station. He hadn’t been so wrapped up in his case that he had failed to notice the excitement and glee in her flushed face as she jumped wholeheartedly onboard with his awkward counterpart Archie Jones. Yes, she was a modern woman: a fun, caring, liberated, sexy, somewhat frightening, offbeat human being, who was currently looking at him with openness and expectation. There was no way he was going to let her down now. 

“Let’s assume, hypothetically, that that woman happens to be….me.” 

“Hmm - what do you want me to do with you, Miss Fisher.” 

“Oh, so many things, Mr. Jones.” 

He hummed thoughtfully, leaning in a brushing his lips against her cheek, pulling back, but lingering close. “That’s something to ponder. Maybe you could make me a list.”

‘Damnit Jack, do you want me to beg?” 

“This may never happen again.” 

She leaned in and pressed her lips to his, in a soft, inviting kiss, before standing up and moving towards the stairs.

“I’m a modern woman Jack. I don’t beg…unless you give me a very good reason.”

Unable to stay seated, with her on the other side of the room, he leapt off the piano bench, pulling her into his arms, and kissing her deeply. 

‘I think that can be arranged.”


End file.
